One Last Sleepover
by rocketsummer
Summary: Set the night of the Frostival. Fiona has gone home with Holly J to finish packing up her loft. In the morning she flies out to New York. Can she really not see Imogen until after the holidays? Several chapters, pure Fimogen. Love your feedback/reviews pals.
1. Chapter 1

**One Last Sleepover**

Set the night of the Frostival. Fiona has gone home with Holly J to finish packing up her loft. In the morning she flies out to New York. Can she really not see Imogen until after the holidays?

Several chapters, pure Fimogen. Love your feedback/reviews pals.

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Midnight. No, one minute past. It was now officially tomorrow. Moving day. Fiona stood silently in her dark lounge room and stared down the big wall clock, willing it somehow to go backwards. She narrowed her eyes, focusing all of her energy into the clock.

"Go on," she urged it. "Back to yesterday. Back to Frostival."

She closed her eyes. Visualised the clock slowing, then spinning backwards, taking her back to the carnival, pulling her onto the ferris wheel and into Imogen's waiting arms.

Fiona snapped her eyes open.

The clock stubbornly ticked on into the future, echoing softly in the packed up loft.

"Fine. Go ahead and obey the stupid laws of time and space," she frowned.

Cold and defeated, Fiona returned to her bedroom, quietly shutting the door behind her. She turned and took the room in. Everything apart from her bed and a small bedside lamp had been either packed up or sold. The room seemed so impossibly big and empty now. The dark corners of the room seemed to swallow up the dim light of the little lamp and Fiona instinctively held herself tightly as her old enemy loneliness pressed in on her. She frowned deeply at her bed. How was she expected to sleep when every moment she slept was a moment closer to her leaving Toronto – and a particular someone – behind?

She pulled a blanket off the bed and, wrapping it around her shoulders, snuggled onto the windowsill. The moon had risen high and the city seemed to twinkle in the night. A smile crept over Fiona's lips as she replayed the moments on the ferris wheel over again for the millionth time: finally finding the courage and swooping in for a kiss. Imogen's eyes perfectly round with shock, blinking rapidly as Fiona began to panic and babble, sure she had ruined everything. And then. Imogen calling out her name – urgent, immediate, "Fiona!" – before pulling her in for the softest, sweetest two kisses she ever could have imagined.

"_I've been wanting to do that for so long."_

Fiona's stomach flipped and a cascade of butterflies filled her. Her soft smile burst into a delirious grin. The impossible had actually happened. It was real life. Imogen liked her. Really liked her. Liked liked her.

Flicking the blanket over her head Fiona squealed as quietly as she could. If only Holly J weren't sleeping upstairs in her mother's room – Fiona would be running around the house with her pants on her head squealing like a ridiculous fangirl!

Fiona pulled her cellphone from her pyjama pocket and stared at it. It was far too late to call… right? Surely it was far too late to call. Well, what about a text? She bit her lip.


	2. Chapter 2

**2**.

Imogen stood in her bedroom and turned in the exact centre of it. She felt transformed, different somehow. Her pyjamas fell differently. She ran her hands over the fabric. They were airier, softer. She had never felt so steady and calm in all her life. Usually thoughts flung in and out her mind like tiny peak hour fighter jets, but tonight everything was still and peaceful.

With a soft knock of the door, her dad poked his head into the room. "Still not in bed? It's midnight."

Imogen raised an eyebrow back at his tired face. "Me? Don't you have to get up early tomorrow?"

"Five AM get up. I'll be glad when this workshop is over," he groaned stepping into the room and wrapping his daughter up in a tired hug.

Imogen pressed her face into his chest and gave him a big squeeze. "That's what you get for being Canada's favourite urban scape-goat."

"I think I'll get that printed on my business cards," he chuckled, before pulling her back to look at her. "Seriously though, I've been so busy lately, it'll be nice to spend some quality time together. After the workshop is finished tomorrow night you and I should celebrate. Pizza. Ice cream. Waffles. A cheesy movie. You can braid my hair."

He waggled his eyebrows at his own bad joke and Imogen gave him a small smile.

"That sounds nice." A guilty sting swept through her. She had been so wrapped up in Fiona and the Frostival that she hadn't really missed spending time with her dad at all.

Her dad peered into her distant eyes, a concerned frown crossing his face. "You must be exhausted too. You've been so quiet since you got home tonight. Your 'festival of frost' was a success?"

Imogen quickly crossed the room to sit on her bed, hiding the blush rising in her cheeks. Distracted by Volta padding into the room, Mr Moreno chatted on as he ruffled at the bloodhound's fur. "You and Fiona put so much work into it, you both should be very pleased."

Imogen just smiled quietly to herself. Mr Moreno looked up her questioningly.

"Are you okay? You don't seem quite yourself tonight."

"You think? I was thinking that earlier."

"Anything you want to talk about?"

The question took Imogen by surprise. It wasn't unusual for her to talk out things that were happening in her life with her dad. And she did intend on telling him about her and Fiona. But right now, as she looked up at him, Imogen realised that she desperately wanted to talk to Fiona about how she felt and no one else.

Mr Moreno frowned at his daughter's far away look. "Did you and Fiona have a fight? I thought it was strange that you didn't invite her in for hot chocolate tonight."

A cackle burst from Imogen's lips as she remembered her dad suddenly opening the front door, almost busting them mid kiss goodbye.

"No! No, we weren't fighting. Really not fighting."

Mr Moreno eyed her curiously and shrugged. "Okay, well, tomorrow night you're going to tell me all about your triumphant Frostival. Deal?"

"Deal. Definite deal. Goodnight, Dad."

As her father closed the door behind him, Imogen fell back onto her bed with a sigh, pulling Volta along with her. She rolled on her back and absently stroked the bloodhound's long ear. A lump jabbed her in the lower back and fishing around beneath her she pulled free one of her bright red woolen gloves. Imogen pulled the glove onto her left hand before slowly lacing her fingers together with that of her bare right hand. Her lips fell open with a small smile.

She had imagined kissing Fiona for months now. Over and over in different settings and scenarios. But the thrill of holding her hand had exhilarated her in ways she never imagined. Sure, she had thought it would be nice, like the comfortable, warm way it had felt to hold Eli's hand. But holding Fiona's hand had filled her body with a euphoric giddiness, like she was a kite about to float away into the solar system and Fiona was all there was to tether her to earth.

She thought of the way Fiona had quietly held her hand as she had walked her home. They had gone on every ride and played every game, squealing and yelling and laughing until the Frostival had ended. Then Holly J had jumped in a cab and Fiona was taking Imogen home to meet her 10pm curfew. They walked in a comfortable silence. So much passed between them but neither seemed able to put it into words yet.

Imogen had realised suddenly that Fiona was nervous. Her grey eyes sneaking sideways glances at her, a small anxious smile flitting across her lips. Imogen looked down at their intertwined hands and gave an assuring squeeze. This was right, everything as it should be.

Far too quickly they found themselves standing at Imogen's house. Imogen took the first steps up to the front door and looked back. Fiona, still holding her hand, stood back at the bottom of the stairs. A strange, undecided look played over her face.

Imogen smiled at her and tugged her to the top of the stairs. "Traditionally this would be the part where we say goodnight."

Fiona looked away, down the steps, up at the sky, anywhere to avoid meeting Imogen's look.

Imogen reached out and gently turned Fiona's face toward her. A thin sheen of tears covered her eyes, her face had gone pale and her cheeks flushed bright. Imogen sucked in a sharp breath. She had seen Fiona upset before, but never like this - so exposed, so vulnerable. A surge of emotion filled Imogen's chest and heart and lungs and she released the captured air in a shuddered breath.

"You're coming back."

Fiona sighed, swallowing back her tears with a short laugh. "I'm coming back."

Imogen looked at her with intense, assured eyes. Fiona kept her eyes down and squeezed her hands hard, as if testing that Imogen were truly before her, that this moment was real. Finally Fiona let her grey eyes rise to meet Imogen's and Imogen was struck by the depth of feeling she saw in them. She couldn't wait anymore.

Stepping in, Imogen pulled Fiona as close as she dared. Her voice came to her as barely a whisper. "Fiona..."

Fiona looked down at Imogen's lips and back up to meet her eyes. A small smile curved at the edges of her mouth. Imogen smiled back, and leaning in, let her lips brush softly against Fiona's in a sweet kiss. A small gasp escaped her as she felt Fiona respond, and for a long moment they stood kissing deeply.

Then the lock of the front had door clicked open with a scrape, and the front door swung open. Fiona sprung back with a yelp, almost toppling into the bushes. Mr Moreno stuck his head out squinting in the dark, oblivious to what he'd interrupted.

"Ah-ha! I thought I heard someone out here. Anyone for marshmallow hot chocolates?"

And with a beetroot red face, Imogen had stood stunned as Fiona had mumbled goodbye and trotted off into the night.

Back in the present, Imogen sighed in frustration and took Volta's face into her hands. "How can that be how we leave it, Volta?"

Volta opened her mouth and for a moment Imogen thought that maybe the dog was going to say something insightfully inspired. But instead she stuck out her fat pink tongue and sent a hot yawn puffing into Imogen's face.

"Phwar! Doggie dinner breath!" She pushed her pillow into the bloodhounds face and the big dog wrestled her back. "Okay, okay! Truce!"

She stared at the dog and a sudden decision clicked inside of her and filled her with energy. Imogen jumped off the bed and poked her head into the hallway. Her dad's loud rhythmic snore echoed from his room. Dead to the world, she thought slyly.

She soundlessly darted back into her room and punched the keys on her cellphone.

There wasn't a lot of time. But there was time.


	3. Chapter 3

**3. **

Somewhere in the last hour it had become late night. The city outside had dulled and gone to sleep. Still perched on her windowsill, Fiona felt the darkness seep from outside into her room and the chill of loneliness creep in with it. She focused on the little bedside lamp, but its light seemed too small and weak to push back the creeping blackness of the night.

Fiona pulled herself deeper into her blanket, closing her eyes. Like a wave that catches you off guard in the ocean, she was suddenly swamped by a crush of anxiety. Her hands gripped to her phone, pressing it into her chest. She had written and deleted and written and deleted a flood of texts to Imogen and sent none. She grit her teeth against the buzzing in her mind. What was she even thinking? She shouldn't bother Imogen this late at night. What was the point of waking her up just to remind her that she was abandoning her for the holidays? The thoughts whipped through her and began to squeeze in on her lungs.

In a well-practiced reflex, she sucked in a deep breath until it filled her diaphragm. She held it a moment, letting the cool air steady and ground her, before letting it rush out passed her lips again. She repeated the rhythm over and over, feeling the anxious fog in her mind lift a little more with each calming breath.

Fiona let her face press against the cool glass of the window. She focused her mind on the icy condensation prickling her skin. Her breathing. Her skin. Her breath. Nothing else. Until her mind and body became clear again.

She opened her eyes. "Oh my god."

Fiona hugged herself, disturbed. She hadn't had to use her breathing techniques for ages now. What was going on? She only needed to do that when a desperate need for alcohol grabbed her. She hadn't even thought of having a drink. It was something else. Fiona looked down at the phone in her hands and it all clicked. Staring at the phone, she saw herself standing before a champagne bottle: wanting it with all her being and desperately trying not to drink it.

At this moment, late in the night, with only hours left until she had to fly away… wanting Imogen felt terrifyingly like wanting to drink. It was the same dull, insistent need that filled her. The irrepressible ache, the mad desire, that told her to forget everything else, to lose control, and let her impulses take over.

She had felt the edges of it creeping in on her as she had walked Imogen home earlier in the night. She didn't really know what it meant at the time, but now Fiona realised that she'd been scared out of her mind to let go of Imogen's hand. Of having to say goodbye and walk away and fly to New York and face her parents and their collective family ruin and the very real possibility that they may not let her return to Toronto, no matter what she said or did or wanted.

Fiona shuddered and pulled her face away from the ice-cold window. What would happen to her if she couldn't come back? And what if did she come back and Imogen didn't want her anymore? That she was actually straight all along and disgusted that Fiona would want to love her? To let herself fall completely in love with Imogen and then not be able to have her… it would be a second addiction to fight. She wouldn't cope. The careful balance she had found in the last term would topple; she would lose control and she would drink.

Fiona sprung to her feet. She looked down and, seeing her cell phone still gripped in her hand, promptly buried it deep in the blanket.

She breathed deeply. Held it. Exhaled.

She rubbed her hands over her face.

Time for a cup of tea.

Her woolly fat socks padded silently though the kitchen. She filled the kettle and flicked the switch to let it boil. Opening the cupboard Fiona looked in on her armoury of teas and plucked out her trusty tin of camomile. She took out her favourite two-cup teapot and went into autopilot: scooping the leaves into the strainer, slicing a piece of lemon, dolloping some honey into her mug. When the kettle boiled she filled the teapot and leaned back on the counter, waiting for the tea to steep.

Ever since she had gotten out of rehab Fiona had become a tea aficionado. Her counselor had suggested it as something to replace the action of drinking alcohol, but Fiona had grown to love the ritual of making tea. It was a calm, slow process that quietened her mind and always left her steady.

She lifted the open camomile tin to her nose and breathed in the sweet flowers with a small smile. Exactly what she needed. She would be asleep in no time after this. She stuck the lid back on and as she put the tin back in the cupboard, knocked another tin and almost sent it flying. She grabbed the rouge tin up and held it to her, as though it might still crash to the ground and wake the entire neighbourhood.

The big wall clock ticked on in the silence and Fiona let out a relieved sigh.

She pulled the lid from the tin and breathed it in. A broad smile instantly broke across her face. Chocolate chai. Of course it would be chocolate chai. Imogen's favourite. Fiona breathed in the tea and grinned. Imogen's face pouting with concentration appeared in her mind and she remembered the all nighter they'd pulled to put together the Frostival decorations. Imogen had insisted on trying to make the chai herself and wound up pouring half the tin over the bench. Fiona had cackled so hard that tears had run down her face, and Imogen, face flushed with a bruised ego chased her around the lounge room. They ran around squealing, until Imogen finally tackled Fiona, pinning her to the couch.

They had lain there, a tangle of arms and legs, breathless with laughter until Fiona had suddenly felt Imogen's warm breath on her face and realised how amazingly close their bodies were pressed together. Fiona's sudden silence brought Imogen's attention and for a long moment they laid staring at each other, faces inches apart. Imogen's eyes had shone with a disarming affection, almost daring Fiona to clear the space and kiss her. It was a chance. All Fiona had to do was lean forward, and show Imogen how she felt.

But across the room the kettle had clicked as it came to the boil, breaking the spell of the moment. Fiona had sat up mumbling about getting the tea, leaving Imogen lying on the couch with her confusion.

Fiona grinned at the memory. She had kicked herself all night and all the next few days for chickening out on such a perfect opportunity. She took another deep sniff of the chocolate chai and saw Imogen sipping it at the counter. Just the thought of Imogen blowing on her hot tea, and Fiona swooned. In a swift motion she poured out the teapot of camomile, and quickly made herself a pot of Imogen's tea. She shook her head. How could she possibly compare Imogen with alcohol? Alcohol never made her feel anything like this.

As Fiona dug out a fresh mug, a fresh giddiness rose in her. How could she possibly doubt Imogen's feelings for her? She had seen them splashed across her face that night on the couch, when they were building the mini house together, when they brushed hands putting up Frostival posters around the school – Fiona just hadn't been able to believe it then. But after tonight there was no doubt. Imogen wanted her and no one else.

She grabbed up her teapot and headed back into her room. As she closed the door she noticed a strange buzzing. It vibrated and echoed around her. What on earth was that? Fiona edged toward the window. The rumpled mess of her blanket shivered slightly with each buzz. Fiona almost dropped her teapot. Her phone! Her phone was ringing!

She shoved the teapot onto the sill, hot water spilling out of the spout and burning her hands. "Ow! Ow! Ow!"

She flung the blanket open, searching desperately through the folds until she landed on her phone. She pulled it out, tapping at it frantically to answer. "Hello! Hello!"

The phone buzzed with a message.

_One missed call. Imogen. _

Fiona's mouth fell open. Her hands seemed to move three times slower than her brain, fumbling to unlock the phone and hit the little phonecall icon. She swore as her emails then her calendar popped up on the screen. Why were these icons so damned tiny?

Her phone buzzed with a new message and Fiona almost dropped the phone altogether. Her mouth fell open as she read the screen.

_Imogen:_

_ I_ _hope you made enough tea for two. _

Fiona looked at the teapot on the windowsill, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. She picked up the pot and stared at it as though some new information might roll out the spout.

Then a flash of blue shot by just outside her window. Fiona narrowed her eyes stepping forward. Did she just imagine that? She wiped at the fogged up glass and peered into the inky darkness outside.

A huge grin appeared and planted a big kiss on the window. "Fiona! It's incredibly cold out here!"

Fiona threw back the lock, pulled open the window, and an icicle otherwise known as Imogen Moreno tumbled in off the fire escape and into Fiona's arms. They landed in a pile on the floor.

Fiona gawked at Imogen, her eyes bugging. Imogen giggled and pecked Fiona on the cheek.

"I thought I smelt chocolate chai," she grinned.


	4. Chapter 4

_Hey guys, sorry for the delay for this new chapter! It's winter down here in Australia and I've been crazy sick with a virus, so my brain has been far too much like pudding to turn out anything vaguely worth posting until now. But! I'm on the mend now so updates should be more consistent. Thanks so much for all the comments, I'm really happy that you guys have been enjoying it!  
_

_:D_

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**4.**

Imogen raised herself up on one elbow. Fiona lay beneath her on the floorboards, her face frozen in wide-eyed shock. Imogen grinned at her. Usually Fiona had a response to everything and everyone - something clever or witty or even cutting - but right now she just stared up at Imogen like she didn't quite remember how to speak.

Imogen gently ran her hand through Fiona's long dark hair. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you when we fell?"

Fiona shook her head very slightly and Imogen giggled. "Hello, there you are. I was beginning to think you'd had a stroke and I'd –" She broke off with a surprised gasp as she felt Fiona's hand softly squeeze at her hip.

"How did you even get here?"

"I, um…" Suddenly all Imogen could focus on were Fiona's fingers pressing at her side, and her partly opened lips which now curved into a small smile. "Fire escape."

"You travelled by fire escape?"

"I was going to stand on the street and call out 'Fiona, Fiona, let down your hair', but I didn't want to wake your neighbours."

Fiona laughed and Imogen lay still, looking at her, at Fiona's face only inches away from her, the freckles dancing across her nose, dimples smiling into her cheeks, the same clear grey eyes which Imogen now knew had been hiding so much up until tonight. All that time Imogen had been flirting with her, Fiona had actually felt the same way. Maybe even more. Imogen's head spun at the knowledge and her mind zoomed in on her leg pressed against Fiona's thigh, her stomach pressed to Fiona's stomach, her hand still roaming through Fiona's hair, the sweet smell of her shampoo consuming her. She felt the hairs on her arms stand on end, and every millimetre of her that made contact with Fiona filled her mind and flooded her body with an anticipation so intense that she began to shiver.

Fiona frowned, concern filling her face. "Hey, what's wrong? Are you cold?"

Imogen bit her lip, desperate to hide the chattering in her teeth and let the moment continue. "No. Totally fine."

Fiona touched Imogen's cheek and immediately pulled her up to her feet. "Imogen, your skin is like ice."

"I'm fine, really. Look at me, I'm wearing about a kazillion layers." She splayed out her arms to show her and gave Fiona the best so-damn-warm-so-there determined face she could muster. "I'm wrapped up like a burrito."

Fiona couldn't help but grin. Imogen was still wearing her beanie, scarf and thick winter coat. Then a cold gust of wind rushed into the room and they realised the window was still wide open. Fiona quickly locked it tight, scooped up her blanket from the sill and led Imogen to the bed. "Hop in, you need to warm up."

Imogen pulled off her boots and Fiona kept a watchful eye as she meekly climbed under the covers, jacket and all. "But… burrito."

"Lucky you make a cute burrito, cause I'm gonna wrap you up some more." Fiona pulled the comforter up around Imogen's chin and wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. "I don't want you to get sick."

Imogen settled back in the bed and watched Fiona hunt around the room trying to remember what she did with the teapot. Finally she handed Imogen a mug of the steaming tea and settled down on the bed next to her. "I only bought one mug in. Is it okay if we share?"

It was a simple, casual question, but Imogen felt her cheeks burn red. She sipped at the hot tea and looked away, hoping Fiona wouldn't notice.

"Oh. I can get another one if you think it's weird." Fiona made to get up and Imogen grabbed her arm.

"No, don't!"

Fiona slowly leaned back on the bed, a confused amusement playing across her face.

Imogen pressed her nose to the side of the mug and peered at Fiona over it. "It's silly."

Fiona laughed. "Now I really want to know." She leaned over and took the mug from Imogen's hands, their fingers brushing softly. Imogen swallowed as she watched Fiona sip from the same spot her own lips had just been. Fiona raised her eyebrows expectantly.

"It's just…" Imogen played with the tassels of her beanie. "When I was little, when my mom was still around, my parents would take me to this little café near our house for Sunday breakfast. I'd get pancakes and colour in and my parents would do the crossword. It was really nice, you know?" She smiled as the memory filled her. "My dad would always order a big coffee and he and my mom would share it. A long Macchiato I think. They would pass it between them, just sort of knowing when the other one wanted some. I loved that." Imogen paused thoughtfully to watch Fiona sip at the tea. "I guess I've always thought that kind of thing was just so… perfectly coupley."

She saw Fiona straighten up, her eyes flick down to the mug in her hands and quickly look back to Imogen. "I guess it is." Fiona said it casually, but Imogen saw the quick downward slant of anxiety in her mouth. "Is that... Is that okay with you?"

Imogen leaned over and slowly, deliberately took the mug back. Keeping eye contact, she sipped.

Fiona stared at Imogen for a long moment until a slow smile crept across her lips. "Perfectly coupley, huh?"

"I think so. Yeah." Imogen exhaled, Fiona's smile becoming infectious.

"So, when I come back… you really want…"

"To share coffee. Yes."

"And be…"

"Perfectly coupley?" Imogen felt an intense shiver of nervous excitement run through her body. "Yes."

Fiona exhaled, as though she'd been holding her breath all night. "Okay. Wow." She reached out and took Imogen's hand.

"Yeah. Wow." Imogen laced their fingers together and looking up, saw a look in Fiona's eyes that shot through her like an arrow. Her bright grey eyes had gone dark and intense. They looked right into her and filled her with boldness. Imogen sat up, her heart pounding in her ears. Holding Fiona's stare she pulled Fiona's hand toward her to wrap it around her waist. She ran her free hand through the long dark hair and leant in to whisper into her ear.

"So, Fiona Coyne. Can I sleep over?"


End file.
